


Like Thorns

by LadyVader



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Written Pre- HP:DH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-09
Updated: 2005-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 16:12:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVader/pseuds/LadyVader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because sometimes the right reasons are harder than the right choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Thorns

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Quote Challenge: _Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn._ \- W.Shakespeare, 'Romeo and Juliet.'  
> 

The day had come, nearly a full decade after the fact, and Draco Malfoy was standing trial for his crimes during the war.

He would have been tried sooner, except that his continued work for the Order had made his so-called arrest something of a difficulty. This was due to the fact that at several points during the years of the war and after the great battles against the Death Eaters, no lesser person than Harry Potter himself had sworn death or extreme vengeance upon anyone hunting the Order’s tamed Malfoy.

That was how Draco felt, caged, trapped, prodded and cleaned and paraded about the Order, constantly praised for his good behaviour with barely a mention of the bad. Oh no. That had stopped long before.

And now here he was, faced by the Ministry and at least half the Wizarding World's paparazzi, waiting to see if the last Malfoy would be punished for his crimes. It would have been easier, he supposed, if there had been fewer crimes to consider, less of a dark blotch against the records of his life. Could one great deed, followed by many smaller acts of brilliance (even if he said so himself) ever overshadow the horrific nature of his time with the Dark Lord.

He didn't think so, and frankly he was having a hard time feeling bad about it.

_'Not… not for me…'_

"Draco Malfoy, you stand before this Council in expectation of judgement. We have heard the many misdeeds and crimes that you committed during your service of the Dark Lord. You may now address the council, or if you have supporters who wish to speak for you, you may summon them hence to do so."

He'd asked him, no, begged him not to attend. For someone who had been cleared of all crimes and pardoned by the council many years before, Severus Snape was still treated with all the welcome and ease bestowed upon muggle lepers of old. Allying himself so publicly, when Draco could very easily be branded a traitor for all time, could only do him harm.

The former potions master rose, magnificent for all his stoop and slick black hair, to glare scathingly into the crowd.

"Draco Malfoy…" he began before coughing harshly, breath rattling in his chest with an almost metallic sound, something that had been with him ever since Voldemort had discovered his treachery and left him to slowly die in a pit of liquid brimstone. 

"Draco Malfoy is nothing short of heroic. I choose no lower term for any other phrase would demean that which he has accomplished." He broke off once more, his fervour igniting the old wounds upon his heart and lungs that neither time nor magic would heal, "He grew up with the knowledge that to serve Voldemort would be his destiny, his only path to follow and yet he chose not to. Yes, he chose late and after committing distasteful acts which I won't deign to repeat seeing as you've all had your entertainment sapped from his mistakes already once today." 

He snarled into the pathetically watchful crowds who were wise enough to flinch beneath his gaze. "And when the time came for him to recognise that he had, indeed, made a mistake in his allegiance, he not only turned his back on all that was dear to him, all that was safe and sure, but he became one of the most dedicated and relentless members of the Order’s curse breaking group. Through him we were able to prevent a great many misdeeds, as you call them, simply by his surrendering and asking how he could help stop the dark lord. Those are not the actions of a war criminal, but as I say, a hero, because he stands here now before you, ready to accept his punishment for crimes that are nothing to the great good he has achieved." 

He sneered with great distaste at the Council themselves, uncaring of the flashes capturing his disgust for posterity. "If you cannot see his worth, even though he has proved it time and time again, then you are the greatest idiots imaginable and murderers besides. He'll die in Azkaban and you know it."

A shiver coursed down Draco's spine. He would die in Azkaban. The Dementors had returned, whether by choice or punishment, but where once they guarded and held a soul within their walls, now there were no walls and somehow, within mere weeks sometimes, they could drain the very will to live from within your heart without even entering your cell.

"Professor Snape," an orange haired council member interjected, bosom heaving with indignation and something akin to panic, sweat clearly visible on her mottled brow, "I think that is quite enough. If you would please retake your seat…"

"It's not nearly enough," the Slytherin spat contemptuously, the councilwitch startling as he interrupted, "He saved the life of the Boy Who Lived, for Salazar’s sake! He saved the boy who saved you all! You'd all be dead if not for him!"

Where there should have been a gasp, a silence falling at the topic forbidden from the hearing due to lack of proof, a quiet voice rang out.

"Hear, hear."

Draco clenched his teeth. If he hadn't wanted Severus present, then there were no words for just how much he'd not wanted fucking Potter to show up.

With an expression of something that might have been gratitude if it hadn't been so ruthlessly concealed beneath layers of bitterness and indifference, Severus Snape stood back from his position on the dais to let none other than The Saviour take his place.

"Mister Potter, sir," the councilwitch began falteringly, "You did not request leave to address the council prior to this adjudication. You require permission to speak on behalf of Mister Malfoy."

The man formerly known as the Boy Who Lived didn't so much as hesitate.

"Well, that’s easily rectified. May I please gain your permission to address the council in the support of one Draco Malfoy?"

The council blinked as one, heads turning then swerving back in the other direction, all helpless to reach a decision without days of pondering and paperwork to cushion the blow.

"I, that is, Mister Potter…" one podgy and frankly panicked wizard began, but Harry cut him off, his tone just that one precious step short of angry.

"Do I have the council’s permission or not?"

"I…uhm…" The council blinked again, torn between standard procedure and the lure of obeying the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

"I'm going to say my piece whether you grant your permission or not, so you might as well make it easy on yourselves and agree now, but understand," Harry’s tone lowered, no longer irritated but almost caressing in its persuasiveness, "I will have my say in this."

The councilwitch rose as though unaware of her own actions, and fleetingly Draco wondered if all Potter had learned from the Dark Lord had been parseltongue.

"You may proceed, Mister Potter," she said then sank back into her seat, exhausted.

"Right," Harry said, turning to quickly glance at Draco's expressionless face before facing the crowd and council once more, "You've all heard the reasons why Draco Malfoy should not be pardoned, heard about who he was then and how he worked, diligently and relentlessly to become the man who stands before you today. But what you don't know, what they never let me tell because nobody wanted to believe it, is that Draco Malfoy saved my life. Not only that but as he did so he created a weakness within the Death Eater’s camp that allowed us to make great advances against them and recover many of those believed lost to Voldemort's experimentations. While impressive, they are not necessarily the facts that require your consideration."

He paused, his hand suddenly clutching at the railing and Draco wondered just what hideous memory the brunet was blocking… or worse, reliving. He had been no mere prisoner to Voldemort and Draco had heard him wake screaming in the night during the years that followed, proof indeed that the Dark Lord had planned more monstrosities than had ever seen the light of day.

"A great man, " Harry began again, voice oddly brusque as he held off unpleasant memories, "once told me that it is not our abilities that show who we are…. It is our choices."

A chill ran Draco's spine and he tensed in readiness for the Gryffindor's following words.

"Albus Dumbledore was the greatest man I've known and he believed in Draco Malfoy. I knew that, knew it for three entire years before the fact of it ever truly struck me, bizarrely enough, when I found myself on the end of his wand."

A gasp of horror rippled through the eagerly listening crowd and the urge to smile nearly overwhelmed the Slytherin as he saw his former housemaster scowling horrifically at Potter's announcement.

"Draco Malfoy was sent to kill me that day. Sent by his father, his mother, his entire family and Voldemort himself because they wanted to reward him by allowing him to be the one to take my life."

The room was deathly still and Draco swayed, wishing fervently for it all to be over. Harry took a deep breath, his tone carefully neutral.

“When Mister Malfoy arrived at my cell, I knew I was going to die. I had no idea they would send him. I hadn't seen him during my... imprisonment. But there was no doubt in my mind that I was going to die and suddenly, faced with the actuality, I realised that while it had to be, it didn't need to be him."

Confusion ran amok over the faces below and Draco hastily closed his eyes, mind reeling back through the years, fixing on bruised, bloody skin and a hoarse voice telling him to run.

_'Malfoy… Malfoy. Don't do this.'_

_'What, you think you'll get out of this by begging, Potter? You'll have to do better than that.'_

_'You're not a killer.'_

_'Give me five minutes, I will be.'_

_'No.'_

_'No? That’s it? No, and I'm supposed to just let you off? Let you live? That’s pathetic, Potter, even for you.'_

_'No. You're not a killer, you never were. You couldn't kill Dumbledore, you mustn't kill me.'_

_'Oh, I 'mustn't'? And fuck you, scarhead. In case you'd forgotten it’s thanks to me that the Death Eaters ever got in and your precious headmaster was killed!'_

_'I know that… I also know…you couldn't do it. I was there, Malfoy.'_

_'…Fuck you, Potter.'_

_'Draco.'_

_'Don't fucking call me that, Potter. Shut up altogether.'_

_'I don't get any last words?'_

_'Shut the fuck up, Potter!'_

_'I was there, Malfoy, he didn't want you to kill him, he wasn't afraid to die he just didn't want it to be YOU…'_

_'BE. QUIET. If I have to hit you again you'll be unconscious and that'll make killing you no bloody fun at all.'_

_'Malfoy.'_

_'What are you, a sucker for punishment or something? '_

_'This isn't you. You're not a killer'_

_'Oh, gosh, wow, Potter. You're so right. I guess I'd best skip away now leaving you to escape with your pretty little life and fucking ugly hair. Do I look STUPID, Potty? If you want to beg for your life then beg, but don't try to bullshit a Slytherin, it won't work.'_

_'Malfoy, I'm dead anyway.'_

_'Glad to see you finally get it.'_

_'Dumbledore didn't want you to kill… he saw more in you than that.'_

_'And now he's dead, so your point is…?'_

_'Don't kill me… let someone else do it.'_

_'Ok, so I'm wrong, you don't get it. It’s a fucking privilege to kill you, Potter. My father was nearly killed and as a reward he asked that I be granted this honour. Me, Draco Malfoy. I get to finally snuff you out.'_

_'Of course.'_

_'…Okay, so what is that supposed to mean?'_

_'Your father’s guaranteeing you a place at Voldemort's side for all time by letting you kill me.'_

_'Well done, Potter. Really I'm impressed. Still so sharp even after all the fun you've been having with the Dark Lord.'_

_'What do you want, Malfoy?'_

_'Uhm, ok, stupid… to KILL you, remember?'_

_'And then to serve Voldemort for all time?'_

_'Yes.'_

_'Liar.'_

_'Excuse me, Potter, I wasn't aware that all that testing you've done for the Dark Lord had gone to your head. Otherwise I might have to do something rather extreme in return for your calling me that.'_

_'You're better than this.'_

_'No, I'm better than you.'_

_'You're not a killer.'_

_'You can keep saying that, nevertheless I am here to kill you.'_

_'Don't… don't do it.'_

_'Uhm, I'm sorry, you want me to flout all that I am, all that I've been raised to be, turn down this honoured and great moment for that paltry bit of whimpering? Because you asked me to?'_

_'N..No. Not… not for me…'_

_'Damn straight, Potter.'_

_'For you.'_

_'What?'_

_'D..do it… for you…'_

_'Potter, you're a fucking idiot if you think that I'm… Potter? Potter, don't you fucking pass out…'_

"I tried to send him away. I knew that Albus had always seen something in him, something that said he was redeemable, something unlike the boy I'd always thought he was. So I asked him to not kill me, to let someone else do it in the hopes he would choose to not kill." An abrupt laugh bubbled over Potter's lips and he grimaced. "In my mind it was the only battle I had left, the only thing I might still win, if only momentarily. Draco Malfoy's soul." He turned, looked steadily at his fellow member of the Order. "Seems like I'm still fighting for it.'

Draco let his eyes fix on Harry, trying to will him to just sit down, let fate do what it wanted with him but then fate had never been particularly on his side.

"I lost consciousness before I could make any real dent, be persuasive in any way. It was a day or so later, I think, before they were able to revive me long enough for my execution and there I was, right back at the end of his wand again…"

_'Is he awake?'_

_'Yes, Master Malfoy, I don't know for how long though, he's not truly recovered from his last testing with Our Lord, but if you act quickly…'_

_'Yes.'_

_'M...Malfoy?'_

_'Quiet, Potter.'_

_'Y, you still…h...here…to… kill me?'_

_'Yes, Potter.'_

Draco shivered, memories seething, seemingly only just beneath the surface of his skin. 'Yes Potter' he'd said, and Harry had blinked swollen, broken eyes up at him and exhaled slowly, his arms, still secured above his head with chains, suddenly pulled taut as he'd slumped, knees taking the sparrow-like weight of the Boy Who Lived and a quiet grief seemed to roll from every pore. But not for himself. Oh no, Harry had been grieving for him, for Draco.

"All I knew was one moment I had my eyes closed, too tired to breathe or think or be and suddenly the audience was gone. All petrified and stunned into an untidy heap in the corner of the room and Malfoy stood over me, pointing his wand at the chains binding me." A troll could have been dropped through the roof at this point and yet no one could take their eyes or ears from their saviour’s testimony. "And then his father arrived."

Draco's mouth quirked. Days, months, years. Nothing would ever erase the pain of that moment.

_'Draco, what are you doing?'_

_'I, I have to save him…'_

Years later Draco still didn't know how he'd known it, there and then, that he could never have left Potter to die, let alone be the one who took his life.

_'Draco, what are you talking about? He is yours, yours to kill, yours to end…'_

_'I don't want to.'_

_"What?'_

_'I.Don't.Want.To.'_

He could still see the cold mask that had settled over his father's face, literally obliterating the man who called him son.

_'Very well then. Stand aside. I'll do it'._

_'No.'_

_'What did you say to me, boy?'_

_'I, I said no, father. I won't.'_

_'So be it.'_

He remembered Lucius' arm had come up and although he never even sounded the first word, not even the first letter, Draco had known his father meant to kill him.

So he killed him first.

Heat flared behind his eyes as he tried to concentrate on Potter's fluid description of the mental anguish he must have felt, the deep and astonishing conclusions he must have arrived at having so greatly altered his path, but all he could see was his father’s wide eyed shock and slow crumple to the floor.

He'd stood there in silence, simply gazing at his dead father, the man he'd killed, when he became aware of sobbing.

_'No… no. Not for me, not for me…'_

As he recalled, he'd slapped Potter hard about the face, still reeling from the reality of his actions, before roughly shaking the still captive Gryffindor.

_'No! NOT for you! Do you understand me? Not for you! Never for you! I didn't do this for you!'_

_'I'm sorry… I'm sorry…'_

He'd spelled Potter free and hadn’t even noticed that he was crying, too.

"So not only did he do the right thing, it cost him everything to do it. His father and that which Dumbledore had wanted to protect. In making the right choice he sacrificed himself and his own happiness. He saved me. He protected me. He dragged me through marshland and snow until we were safe. He made a choice, a choice that defines him now, to do the right thing and yet you stand here today, prepared to punish him for it?"

This was not the same Harry Potter he'd borne the weight of through snow and seeping icy mud, each sobbing like a lost child in the night. This Potter stood tall and vengeful, picking out each member of the council and spelling wrath out with his gaze.

“You ought to be ashamed.” He spat.

And then he stood down.

Quiet reigned in the room for a full minute, the crowd too awed or unnerved to do more than blink and gulp, the council snatching quick sips of water and shuffling quills and parchment between them.

"We… we will now briefly adjourn to deliberate. We shall resume in precisely one hour."

The council filed out and Aurors were good enough to escort Draco to somewhere the public couldn't ogle him and mutter amongst themselves as to how they'd vote given half the chance. To his horror, both Potter and Severus followed.

"Brilliant performance up there Potter. Was it just me or did I see tears in your eyes towards the finale?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Snape, I didn't realise only you were allowed to be passionate in the defense of your heroic protégé."

"Both of you be quiet. Better yet, get out."

They both ignored him in favour of sinking into equally uncomfortable chairs at the end of the room to glare reproachfully at him. Draco, still elegant even in the face of such stress and angst, sank gently into the only comfortable chair and proceeded to close his eyes.

If he concentrated hard enough, perhaps he could lose himself in a memory, a good one, one to sustain him if they locked him away, one to get him through until the end… Quidditch, his first broom, his first shag, discovering a new serum, fighting back to back with Harry, trawling the depths of Egypt with the only bearable Weasley, month long games of chess with Potter that he let him win (occasionally), Potter…

"Draco?" His eyes shot open, gritty and unfocused.

"It's been a hour. They're calling you back now."

To sentence you. They're calling you back now to sentence you. Draco wondered when Potter had started editing his words to fit Draco. Perhaps he had always done so. It was of no importance now.

They walked evenly back to the stands, not rushing nor lingering although Draco found he had the odd urge to clutch at doorframes and drag his heels across the polished floor.

'Oh god,' he thought abruptly, 'I don't want to die…'

"Mister Malfoy, you have been accused of treachery, murder, plotting, misuse of magic and use of the dark arts. You have been considered here today with the sum of your misdeeds weighed against you." Draco felt rather than saw Potter and Severus tensing at the corner of his eye. "This Council has deliberated, taken into account the use you have put your recent years to and the many possibly great things you have accomplished. That said…" Draco's blood ran cold.

Oh god.

"You are still a former Death Eater and devotee of the Dark Lord and as such we hereby strip you of your inheritance, estate and family title. The Council demands that you live under the care of a sponsor until a time when the Council sees fit to reassess you and deliberate once more as to your general standard of life. That is all. You are released."

He couldn't recall sitting down, nor how his head came to be in his hands. All he could concentrate on was the effort it took to bring air to his lungs and the words whirling round in his skull.

_I am released._

Aurors pulled him gently to his feet, walked him to the bathroom where he threw up at great length until it finally hit him. He was free. He was alive.

It took them three more hours to properly strip him of his assets, three hours spent waiting and repetitively signing his name to relinquish all hold on anything to do with his prior existence. It seemed a strange thing to him. He had assumed that he'd been renounced and rejected immediately following the death of his father and a tiny spark, the briefest, most pathetic glimmer of light that perhaps his mother hadn't simply overlooked the formalities, but truly had not wished to disown her son, forever warmed him through. He knew that the odds were she was too busy working alongside his aunt at the time of her death to stop and disown him. But there was always that chance, that tiny hope that maybe, just maybe…

The warm feeling dissipated abruptly when the Aurors questioned him as to his sponsor.

"What do you mean I can't live with Severus Snape? He's my mentor, for Merlin's sake!"

"Son, there are rules about former Death Eaters and despite your mentor having been fully pardoned and yourself acquitted of gross wrongdoing, the fact remains that it’s simply not allowed. You'll have to go to someone else."

Draco's mouth was dry and bile simmered restlessly in his gut once more. "There is no one else," he said softly, swallowing as the Auror consulted his many notes.

"Says here Harry Potter said he'd take you in?"

Draco straightened up, rigid and horrified from his chair. "No," he ejaculated clumsily, nauseous again, and the Auror sighed and gently pushed Draco back in his seat.

"Son, it's him or Azkaban. You heard the terms."

Draco blinked. "Yes," he said numbly.

And so Potter met him, glasses foggy with rain, outside the Ministry only a mere six hours after Draco had been set free. Already he couldn't breathe.

"Where are we going?" he asked baldly as Potter steered him away from the Ministry, still out the slow rain as they seemingly strolled down the street.

"I thought we could return to Grimmauld Place for awhile, wait for things to settle. You can use your old set of rooms until we get something more permanent figured out."

Permanent. A sharp spike of something like anger shot down Draco's spine.

"Whatever you say, Potter. You're the boss." He wished the words weren't quite so bitter. It was beneath him.

Potter stopped. Stopped right in a puddle to peer intently, if not a little irritably, into Draco's face.

"Why'd you do it?"

"What?" Draco was in no mood for guessing games and Potter's bleary eyes behind sopping lenses were rather too direct to be amusing right then.

Harry shifted from foot to foot, looking oddly belligerent for someone who'd just volunteered to look after the man who saved his life.

"Why did you do it? That day, in the cell. You were going to kill me, then you didn't, and then you saved me. Why?"

Draco blinked, scowled and snarled within the space of a few milliseconds. "Why? Why did I do it, Potter? I'll tell you, I've no FRIGGING CLUE!!! And before you go tripping down your little path of guilt and self-recrimination just remember it WAS NOT for YOU!"

The brunet cocked his head, nostrils flaring. "No?" he quipped acerbically.

"FUCK no! You arrogant shit, Potter! You told me I was worth more than that…"

"You are."

"...You told me I didn't have to kill, didn't have to do it…"

"I know."

"I was doing it for ME, you shitbag, Me! Get it? I did what was best for Draco Malfoy and I'm STILL doing what's best for me and no one else!"

Harry crossed his arms. "Oh, sure," he agreed blandly and Draco saw red.

"What the FUCK are you trying to say, Potter? What's with all this passive aggressive questioning anyhow? What's going on inside that fucking ugly little skull of yours?"

Harry shrugged. "I just wanted to know why you saved me."

"I just TOLD you! For ME!" Draco's voice had shot up from snarl to screech.

"No, you said that’s why you didn't kill me. But why did you save me?"

"I... you…"

"And why did you join my side? Why did you fight AT my side for that matter? Why did you take a curse for me? Why did you turn yourself in? How was any of that for you?"

"Potter!"

"Yeah?"

"Shut UP!"

"Tell me why, Draco."

"I HATE you!"

"I know."

Draco bared his teeth and seized Harry by his robe lapels and shook him, hard.

"I HATE YOU!" he screamed. And then he kissed him, dropping him near instantly into the puddle below. "Fuck!" he yelled uselessly.

Harry coughed, splayed in the puddle with a furious Malfoy standing over him, fists clenching and unclenching in the grey light, gasping as he was suddenly wrenched upright once more.

"I hate you," Draco spat and hit him, sending Harry staggering back a few steps.

"Why?" he gasped, already steeling himself for the next blow.

"I fucking HATE you!" Draco yelled, hot tears now steaming down his face amongst the chilled raindrops, swinging his fist to collide with Harry's mouth.

Harry stumbled, hand pressed to his bleeding lower lip, and struggled to keep his balance.

"I know you do," he rasped and caught his breath as Draco yanked him to his chest, mouth sealing over his even as clawed fingers seized and pulled at his hair and skin.

"I don't love you," the Slytherin gasped, pushing the now spluttering brunet away, the metallic hot sting of Potter's blood and kiss overwhelming his senses. "I don't. I 'hate' you."

"Ok." Harry nodded, watchful, wary but… accepting?

Draco swayed and felt abruptly bereft. "I hate you," he tried again weakly.

Harry smiled, sort of, more of a tiny stretch of his mouth to the right, a subtle warming, an understanding in his eyes.

"I don't love you," Draco whispered, "I was better… better than that. You said so."

"I know," Harry said, calm and bleeding in the rain and suddenly Draco couldn't see him for the water in his eyes.

"I couldn't kill him, couldn't kill Dumbledore…I… I miss my Dad…. My Mum…"

With a strangled sob he doubled over, caught midway and crushed into a sodden embrace as Harry pushed his face into the slightly warmer skin of his throat.

"I know," he almost crooned, "I know."

Draco stood there, weeping brokenly in Harry's arms for what seemed like hours, continuing to hide his face long after the shudders had stopped.

"I don't... I… this can't be love."

Harry said nothing but Draco felt him swallow once, then twice.

"Love isn't like this. It's like…" Draco trembled, recalling how he'd once clung to an equally weak and weeping Harry as they'd made their way from Voldemort's hideout, deep into the Forbidden Forest. He straightened up.

"You ruined my life," he stated softly, not so changed from the Draco of old that he didn't enjoy the way Potter's face blanched at his words. He took a deep breath that trembled as he exhaled, "You saved it, too."

Harry stilled, fingers pressing reflexively where they were still holding Draco to him. "Oh?" he stammered. Draco nodded.

"I don't love you," he said quietly and the words tasted like ash so he pressed his mouth to Harry's and tasted the life flowing there, "Do you love me?"

He hadn't meant to whisper those words, tight and blurred like that against Potter's lips.

"I don't know," Harry whispered back and this time they both tasted the lie.

They each pulled back slightly and Draco couldn't help himself. "Liar," he spat gently.

"Liar," Harry agreed, a bizarrely twisted smile directed straight at the Slytherin, before dropping his arms and stepping away.

It seemed so strange to Draco, the constant seething and fury when Potter fought him, the delicious almost addictive hit when he took his side, now suddenly mingling with this, this new warped aspect to their bond. Love wasn't a contented rolling purr, the tender smile on your face. It was the vicious, bloodthirsty howl that frightened away everything, everyone but that which is yours, the thorn so deep in your flesh it couldn't ever be removed.

"I still hate you," Draco informed him, semi-cordially, smirking at the blood still dribbling from Harry's torn lip as they turned to continue down the alley, hopefully towards a nice dry floo.

"I'll live."

Harry was still grimacing slightly, soothing his torn lip with his tongue and shooting Draco the odd wrathful glare. But it was softened by that same strange quirk hovering at the edge of Harry's lips and Draco let his hand swing gently, let his knuckles rap and catch smoothly over the ridges of Potter’s own. It was going to be violent, perhaps even cruel at times, and they'd never agreed on a single thing yet. But then, Draco had always hated Harry…

He stole another look to his left, eyes casually gorging themselves on that twisted little smile, ravenous suddenly for that quick taste of Harry's life and love on his tongue.

"Don't be too sure, Potter. Don't be too sure."  


Fin.


End file.
